


Nothing Else Matters

by Melusine6619



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas is captured and held hostage; his mate seeks to free him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for My Slashy Valentine 2011. Beta'd by the wonderful Ireth.
> 
> Requested Rating up to = NC-17  
> Requested pairing = Legolas/Elf (Writer’s Choice)  
> Story elements = angst, but with happy ending, sex scene  
> Do NOT include = fluff, silly Legolas, rape, death

He came to in darkness. 

There was nothing other than smell to tell him where he was. His nose crinkled in disgust as he breathed in slightly. Rotted food. Decayed flesh. Mustiness. He was in a dungeon. 

But where? Was this the same house he had entered . . . He had no idea how long he had been here, what day it was. He tried to move, but his ribs protested. He clutched toward his chest, but his hands drew up short of their goal at the same time he became aware of sharp pains in his wrists. 

He cursed in frustration, but that only made his head pound even more than it already did. No one replied. Other than his own labored breathing, there was silence. 

He was alone.

Another string of oaths, though weaker now, flowed from his lips. Was this how the Haradrim treated those wishing to trade with them? 

How could he have been so foolish? So trusting? 

Ai, he knew how. Gondor and Harad were at peace again, supposedly. There had been local rebellions, but those had been put down. Harad merchants had come to the White City to show their wares and ask for agreements. Legolas had been interested. He wished now he had not been. 

But it was too late for regrets, and this throat worked up and down. It was dry and thirsty. 

Thirsty. A drink . . . Wine . . . He remembered wine, only one goblet, not enough to make him drunk, not nearly enough. Vague images of fighting flashed through his mind. His escort . . . Valar! They were dead. He struggled again against his bonds, a wave of anguish rising within him. 

But he could not get free. He stilled. Perhaps there was yet a way. Perhaps if his captors loosened the chains to feed him . . . 

At the thought of food he leaned over as far as his bonds would allow and retched upon the floor. The sound of the violent purging of his stomach echoed in the cell, assaulting his ears as much as the stench of it assailed his nostrils. 

He fell back heavily against the wall and closed his eyes. His last thought before sinking into merciful oblivion was of his mate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many leagues away the stillness of night was broken by the sound of horse hooves.   
Two rode abreast, their keen eyes and ears searching out danger on the horizon, but their steeds were all that moved in this southern land, save for a hawk, circling high above, searching for prey. 

“We should stop,” Elladan said for the third time in as many leagues.

“No.”

“Elrohir . . .”

“You stop if you’re tired,” Elrohir replied, his voice terse, his face set. Determined. “I cannot stop until I find him.”

“Think of the horses, ‘Roh.”

Elrohir’s shoulder slumped. They had been riding hard almost from the moment Estel had received a note of ransom claiming a Harad bandit held Legolas prisoner. He would be freed in exchange for gold and the release of certain prisoners. If his demand was not met his prisoner would be killed. As proof he had enclosed a lock of sun-gold hair. Those strands now rested in a pouch next to Elrohir’s heart. He clutched at it reflexively now, a helpless gesture of protectiveness that did nothing to soothe him. 

“We’ll stop for only a little while,” Elladan added when he saw Elrohir’s hesitation. “There’s a copse of trees there where we can make camp.”

They reached the site quickly. Elrohir set about searching for twigs and sticks to make a fire while Elladan went to tether the horses. When he had enough fuel he cleared a small area in the grass, placed the kindling in the center of it, and struck a flint to light the pieces. He watched the spark flicker and catch; it sputtered at first and then slowly began to grow until it burned steadily. 

It had been like that with Legolas and him—the spark of attraction turning to hot desire, and before either realized it, into the deep glow of love. 

“You should eat.”

Elrohir glanced to his left, startled. He had not noticed Elladan’s approach. He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can.”

“You can starve yourself out of worry, but what good will it do Legolas if you have no strength to rescue him, hmm?” Elladan tore off a piece of lembas and offered it to him before breaking off a piece for himself. 

“I hate it when you’re right,” Elrohir muttered. He accepted the morsel and chewed slowly, forcing himself to swallow. When Elladan gave him his water skin he took it without protest and forced the water down past the lembas and the thick knot of fear that had lodged in his throat the moment he had heard the news. 

“Try and get some rest. I’ll stand watch,” Elladan offered a short time later, and stood before Elrohir could protest that it was his turn. He clamped a hand upon his twin’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “We will find him.”

The younger twin closed his eyes and tried to nod. He wanted to believe, but he was afraid. Afraid that Elladan spoke only empty reassurances. Afraid that they would find Legolas, but too late. The Haradrim were not known for their mercy 

“Elrohir.”

He looked up at Elladan and found himself blinking away tears at the compassion he saw in his brother’s eyes. 

“Rest,” Elladan said again. 

This time Elrohir rose to his feet and moved to his bedding. He wrapped himself in his cloak and rolled to face away from the fire to stare into the darkness. He wanted to go on, to keep riding. It was too quiet now without the steady tread of his horse’s hooves upon the ground; there was nothing to distract him now from his thoughts, from his need to find his mate. From his guilt.

He blamed himself for Legolas’ capture. Legolas was so young and full of wonder, and though the Sea called to him, there was much of Middle-earth he had not seen. When the opportunity to trade with the Haradrim for his people’s benefit had come, it was only natural that he should want to be the chief negotiator. Elrohir knew that, understood his mate, but that had not stopped him from becoming angry with him. Had not stopped him from accusing the archer of loving adventure more than him. 

“Forgive me, Legolas,” he whispered. He tried to fight back the fear, tried to tell himself Legolas would be all right. 

Surely he would be all right? He wanted to believe that more than anything. 

Yet it was so very hard to hold onto that hope, and Elrohir felt the tide of helplessness wash over him once again. 

Rest? No, there would be none for him. Not now. He could not rest until Legolas was safely in his arms again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They entered the Harad city at dusk three days later.

The streets were slowly emptying as business owners closed up shops and folk of all ages and sexes made their way to their abodes. A few glanced at them as they moved past but none stopped to speak with them, too intent for their shelters against the cool maritime air to pay them much heed.

They dismounted in front of a building marked as an inn and made their way inside. The main room was warm but they kept the hoods of their cloaks covering their heads. The people rushing home may have been more intent on comfort than curiosity but these folk would have more leisure to be suspicious.

They found a table away from the more crowded area near the fireplace and sat, backs to the wall. The barmaid drew close, and Elladan doffed his gloves and withdrew a few coins from a pocket within his cloak. He laid them on the oily cloth so that she could see the amount. Her eyes goggled at the small pile. 

“Two mugs of ale.” When the girl moved to retrieve the money he covered her hand with his. “And information.”

“What sort of information?” she whispered. 

“We’re looking for a friend, a male. Tall, slender, hair the color of the sun. He would have had two others with him. Did he pass this way by any chance?”

She pulled her hand away, scooped up the money, and moved toward the bar. “I’ll be back with your drinks,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry to any who might be listening.

Elladan glanced at Elrohir. He had said nothing for some time, had only stared ahead with grim determination. Elladan had the feeling there was more to his brother’s mood than a kidnapped lover, but Elrohir had been close-lipped about what else troubled him. 

The girl returned quickly, almost too quickly to have learned anything. Elladan frowned in disappointment, but she placed their mugs of ale on the table and without a by-your-leave, sidled her way onto Elladan’s lap and gave him a look that he should play along. “You’re a big strong lad, aren’t you?”

Elladan grinned and placed a hand on her backside. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“I think you’ll do just fine.” She leaned in close. “I saw someone like you described, about a fortnight ago. Might have been longer, maybe less. Had two others with him, like you said. Mind you, I only got a glimpse of the hair . . .”

Elrohir leaned forward and placed both hands palm down on the table. Elladan shot him a warning look, and he picked up his ale instead and took a drink. 

“Go on, love,” Elladan encouraged, moving his other hand to squeeze one of her breasts.

She giggled before continuing. “He didn’t say much, just ate and went on his way. The stable boy said he asked for directions to the mayor’s house.”

“And where would that be?” 

“It’s at the far side of town, near the bay. The big one with the red roof. You can’t miss it.”

“And did he go there?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, shrugging.

Elladan nodded and pushed her off his lap. He handed over another coin. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you want to go upstairs?” she asked, running her hand down his arm. 

“Perhaps next time,” Elladan replied, smiling. He drained half his mug and stood up. “Save me a place by the fire, love.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They observed the guards carefully. There were two of them, walking along the top of the wall. Each wore a sword sheathed in a scabbard, as well as a dagger tucked into a sash encircling his waist. Elrohir could see no evidence of more weaponry.

At a signal they tossed rocks into the yard past the wall. It had the desired effect of distracting the guards and the Twins moved stealthily to intercept them. 

Elladan dispatched his quarry with a sleeping hold, but the second guard, having seen nothing on the grounds, turned back in time to witness the brief struggle. He started to call for aid but an arrow pierced his throat. He fell from the wall and hit the ground with a thump. 

The brethren slipped over the fence without a sound and warily surveyed the grounds again. Elrohir spared the guard he had shot a quick look to insure that he was dead, before creeping toward the back of the house. Elladan followed, checking over his shoulder frequently, but they were not marked as they passed. 

The back entrance was not watched, and no one saw or heard them as Elladan picked the lock. They could hear the clink and clang of dishes being washed as they stole inside, but there were no other sounds. Inside, save for a few wall sconces casting garish shadow, all was dark. They started forward when a man stepped out from a front room and moved in their direction. 

As he walked past, Elrohir grabbed him from behind and hauled the man to the nearest unlocked room. He held a menacing looking dagger to the man’s throat. 

“If you try to raise the alarm I will kill you,” he whispered, moving his hand away slightly from the man’s lips. “Where is the Elf?” 

“D—Don’t know what you’re t—talking about.”

Elrohir pressed the blade closer to the man’s flesh. “Where?”

“D—Dungeon. S—Second door to the last. That way.” He pointed to the left.

“And the others?” Elrohir demanded.

“Dead.”

Elrohir knocked the human out cold, not even looking as he stepped over him where he lay on the floor. Elladan waited near the door, keeping watch, and Elrohir hurried over. Together they cautiously left the room and made their way to where the man had said Legolas would be.

Another door blocked their path, but light glowed beneath it where the stone had worn away from countless years of scraping. They tested it cautiously, and to Elrohir’s mingled relief and anxiety, it was unlocked. Someone was down there with Legolas.

They hurried down, quick, cautious.

There were voices, the sound of someone being struck, a gasp of pain. Elrohir’s hand tightened on his knife, and he moved even more quickly now.

“Your friends do not answer, Elf. Why?” 

The sound of another blow reached him.

“Well?”

Elrohir heard a third blow. His jaw clenched in anger.

“I don’t . . . know.”

“Perhaps you have no friends, eh?” The swarthy human leaned closer and ran a hand over Legolas’ face where he had struck it before trailing it down the archer’s body. “You’re a pretty thing. I don’t have to kill you. I could keep you, make you my pleasure slave. You would warm my bed nicely.”

Elrohir was behind the man now, and he caught the Harad’s arm and jerked the man against him. He twisted the arm behind the man’s back and shoved it upward. “The only thing you’ll find pleasure in is your hand. If I don’t cut it from your arm first,” he growled

But Elladan nudged him away. “I’ll take over from here.” 

Elrohir nodded and stepped away. By the time he thought of keys the man was on the floor, as unconscious as the others. Elrohir unfastened the keys from the man’s belt and hurried back to Legolas. He fell forward, motionless, when Elrohir unlocked the shackles at his ankles and then at his wrists. Elrohir caught him close and held him.

“Legolas, can you hear me?”

But the archer became boneless in his arms.

“Come on. We can’t wait for him to wake up,” Elladan advised. 

Elrohir shifted Legolas’ body until he had a better hold. “I’m ready.”

Without another word Elladan began to move back to the stairs. Elrohir followed him up, hoping they could make it out of the house and the grounds with no one raising an alarm. The sooner they could make it to safety the sooner he could take care of Legolas.

The moon was still hidden when they re-entered the grounds, and that would aid them, but scaling the wall with an injured and unconscious man was impossible. 

Elladan placed himself behind his brother as they crept to the front gate, an arrow ready to fire if needed.

But no one gave a warning as the gate creaked open. So far they were undiscovered.

Elladan helped his brother get Legolas onto his horse before mounting his own, and they took flight, while above them the heavens broke and rain began to fall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I’m going to ride back and slit every one of their throats . . .”

Elrohir’s hands shook with fury. There was no part of his mate’s face or torso that was not bruised. Elrohir had found three broken ribs, though thankfully there was no sign any of them had punctured Legolas’ lungs. 

But Legolas was so still. 

Elrohir told himself it was the drug they had used, repeatedly, from the look of Legolas’ lips and tongue, that made him so, but that did not soothe him either. With Elladan’s help, he gently wound the long strip of fabric around Legolas’ chest and tucked it into place to hold. He closed his eyes, tried to regain control of himself, to focus on healing rather than revenge. It did not work.

“Orc-loving bastards,” Elrohir muttered, as he went to the hearth to retrieve the water he had set to boil. 

When he returned to his mate’s side and set the pail down, his anger rose again. The shackles the bandits had used to bind Legolas had been rusted from the damp, and where they had dug into his wrists, infection had set in. Quickly he dipped a cloth into the fragrant water and wrung it out over an outstretched wrist, washing away blood and pus and metal into the pan beneath.

They had taken refuge at the same inn they had stopped at earlier. Neither thought it a particularly wise choice, but for Legolas’ sake they decided to risk it. The rain that had begun as they made their escape had turned hard, and in just a few moments they were all soaked and Legolas was icy cold. The girl, Nerine, who had aided them before, had helped them smuggle Legolas into an upstairs chamber, promising to warn them if anyone came looking for them. And Elladan had returned to watching by the door.

So far no one had followed them. Elrohir hoped they would come. He wanted them to come. He wanted to beat them, to hurt them. Kill them slowly, hack them apart, piece by piece.

He swore again as he smoothed salve over the broken skin he had cleaned, but his touch was tender as he wrapped clean cloth around each wrist and bound it off, kissing each in turn. And now he had one more task to complete. 

He balked, wished for a heartbeat that it was not his to do. He was afraid of what he might find.

Behind him he heard Elladan move closer. “Do you want me to—?”

“No. No, I’ll do it.” 

He had already stripped Legolas down to his skin, and now, resolute, Elrohir carefully eased Legolas onto his side. He paused, hands stilling, drew a deep breath in and out. Gently he spread his mate’s buttocks, bit his lips, and gingerly examined him. He blinked. There were no bruises here, no tears. There was no blood. 

Elrohir lowered his mate so that he rested on his back again and drew the blanket over him once again. He breathed in and out again, rapidly, a great sob of relief escaping his throat. “Thank the Valar.”

He undressed and curled protectively around his mate, one hand moving back and forth over his injuries, sending healing energy into his body and whispering words of love into his ear, until he was exhausted and in need of rest himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was still dark when Elrohir jerked awake. 

He had dreamt of finding Legolas chained to the wall, his head down, his body limp and lifeless. Drawing in several deep gulps of air, he calmed when the sound of shallow breathing penetrated his panicked mind. He bent over Legolas in concern. He was still pale, still trembling. 

A light knock sounded upon the door and Elrohir turned his head to watch as Elladan cautiously opened it. It was the girl.

“I’ve brought you something to break your fast, and for the road,” she said quietly. “Will your friend be all right?”

“Yes, thanks to you,” Elladan answered, accepting the package, even though they had lembas still. “We’ll be leaving shortly, so as not to cause you any trouble.” 

Elrohir moved forward in hastily tugged on leggings. He smiled warmly at the girl and pressed several coins into her hand. “Yes, thank you, Nerine.” 

She curtsied again and peeked back down the stairs. “I was glad to do it,” she replied, bobbing a curtsy. “I’ll make sure the way is clear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elrohir took the tray of food and the bottle of wine from the maid and murmured his thanks, shutting the door with his foot.

He had never been so glad to return to Minas Tirith as he had been three days ago. The journey back had been uneventful, his only worry being Legolas slipping in and out of consciousness. He had looked much improved this morning, however, to Elrohir’s relief, and now, this afternoon, he seemed almost back to normal. So he had ordered food. And a bath, just in case Legolas should want one right away.

Legolas awakened slowly as the first of Anor’s rays touched his face. He blinked against the brightness of it, and drew a shallow breath. The scent of healing herbs filled his nostrils and he glanced to the end of his arm. Pristinely white cloth circled his wrist where the shackle had dug into it. He could feel a similar bandage on the other. 

For a few heartbeats he could not imagine why it was there, but the memory of recent events rushed in on him all at once, and his joy at seeing the sun dimmed. He could feel the darkness of the cell, the dampness and scent of decay, and he shuddered in spite of the clearness of the sky and the heat of the sun where it touched him. But at least he was alive. Two of his men were not, and he would have to notify their families. He dreaded fulfilling that duty, more so now than he usually did.

“You’re awake.” 

He turned his head toward the door, his smile at seeing his mate fading slightly as he noted the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Was I sleeping long?”

“Long enough to worry me,” Elrohir confessed. 

He moved close and set the tray aside on the small table, bending over him. Legolas did not utter a word of complaint as Elrohir began to examine him, for it was his way, to be physician as well as husband in equal measure when Legolas was hurt in some fashion. He could hardly deny Elrohir the simple reassurance he now sought. Not when he looked as if he had slept little.

“The bones have healed,” Elrohir said, marveling that even after a rough journey on horseback, his mate’s body could mend itself so quickly. He pulled the end of the bandage loose. “Let’s see if you can sit up . . .”

With his help Legolas could indeed sit upright, and Elrohir began to unwrap the cloth. Legolas took a deep breath; it did not hurt, and he returned his mate’s smile. His wrists were likewise unbound and declared whole.

“Of course,” Legolas said with a soft smile. “With you as my healer how could I not recover?”

“Flatterer.”

“Will it earn me a kiss?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir dutifully leaned down and pressed his lips to Legolas’ forehead. 

“Wasn’t what I had in mind,” the archer grumbled.

“No?” Elrohir whispered, sliding his lips down along Legolas’ nose before dropping them to his mate’s mouth. 

Elrohir kissed him gently for several moments before pulling away. Legolas raised his chin to hold on to the feel of Elrohir’s lips, to the love and devotion they conveyed. He sighed when Elrohir was out of reach and fell back, regarding him tenderly as he lifted a hand to cup his husband’s face. 

“I was afraid I would never see you again in this world,” Legolas whispered.

“So was I,” Elrohir answered. He leaned close again, but Legolas’ stomach rumbled.

“Food first, then, or would your rather have a bath?” Elrohir asked, his mouth quirked upwards slightly. 

“Both,” Legolas murmured.

Elrohir chuckled lightly. “I thought that might appeal to you.”

Slowly Elrohir helped him stand and make his way to relieve himself and then into the bathing chamber. The water was still steaming when he aided Legolas into the tub. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before disappearing

Legolas stared after him with a frown but could not resist the urge to wash. By the time Elrohir returned with the tray of food he was rinsing his hair. 

“Move forward a bit, meleth,” Elrohir said, shedding his tunic and leggings. He stepped into the water and eased himself down behind Legolas, who immediately leaned back against him.

Legolas turned his head to speak but as he did so Elrohir offered him a bite of venison. He opened his mouth gratefully, chewed slowly on the succulent meat and swallowed. A bit of bread came next, followed by a sip of wine. Then Elrohir caught his chin and turned his head toward him, leant down, and covered his mouth with his own. With his other hand he began to slowly caress Legolas’ chest. Legolas moaned and Elrohir released him, offering another bit of food.

In this manner Elrohir fed his mate, enjoying the closeness, the simple intimacy of skin touching skin. He was hard, so hard, and so was Legolas, who murmured approvingly around Elrohir’s tongue as he stroked Legolas’ cock, slowly. So slowly.

At last there were only a few bits of venison left. Elrohir offered another piece to his mate, who shook his head.

“Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Perhaps yes,” Elrohir said softly, his lips close to Legolas’ ear. “Perhaps I want to feast upon your flesh, suckle upon your bones, drain them . . .”

“I’m clean,” Legolas gasped, slipping out of Elrohir’s hold and rising. He started to turn, to straddle Elrohir’s hips, but his mate shook his head.

“I will not have you tiring yourself. Not yet, at least,” Elrohir said, standing as well and helping Legolas from the tub. 

After a perfunctory toweling, he led him back to the bed and when Legolas was laid out, golden hair spread upon the pillow, skin glowing from the hot water, drops of it still glistening on his skin, Elrohir licked his lips. “Now ‘tis my turn to feast.”

With that he covered Legolas’ body carefully with his own, peppering Legolas’ face with kisses before recapturing his mouth. He tasted of wine and bread and venison and pure, delicious Wood-Elf, and Elrohir devoured him. Swept his tongue inside and remapped the different textures of teeth and palate and the archer’s own slick muscle, sucking it into his own mouth like a treat.

Then he moved downward to nibble at Legolas’ chin, to nip at his throat. Strong hands gently roamed his shoulders, his lips following. Elrohir followed each arm down to the fingertips, suckling upon each digit, while beneath him Legolas squirmed.

Legolas panted beneath Elrohir’s tender and thorough seduction. His own hands pulled Elrohir close, forcing his body to align with his so that their cocks rubbed together. “Please, please, melethron, I want you inside me now.”

Elrohir groaned and shifted, capturing Legolas’ arms and holding them still next to the archer’s head. “Not yet. Hold still.”

He bent his own head to write with his tongue words upon Legolas’ chest. His mate began to murmur, countering each word with one of his own. “Mine,” Elrohir traced around a pebbled nipple.

“Yours,” Legolas intoned, his voice catching as Elrohir’s mouth closed around the nub while his fingers gently twisted its twin.

Elrohir moved again, his lips searing across taut abdomen that quivered at his touch. His tongue darted into Legolas’ navel, and the archer jerked upward in response. Elrohir laughed softly and repeated the motion. Legolas’ hands, released from Elrohir’s hold, caught in his hair and tugged.

“Please.”

Elrohir meant to skirt lower, to ignore Legolas’ erection until later but he could no more deny that plea than he could his own desire to fill his mouth with that turgid, velvet-encased muscle, and so he readjusted his position and took the archer’s shaft into his mouth.

Above him Legolas cried out. The prolonged teasing, the combined heat and suction, the wicked gleam in Elrohir’s eyes as he raised his head to gaze upon him, were enough to make him spill almost immediately. 

Legolas relaxed into the bed, his body sated, but Elrohir was not finished. Legolas felt his thighs urged apart, and he complied, gasping as his mate’s tongue now circled and lapped at his entrance, then speared it repeatedly. 

“Oh, Valar,” Legolas panted, helplessly fisting the sheets with one hand, the other sifting through Elrohir’s hair. 

A finger, slickened with saliva and his own seed slipped inside him. He tensed only slightly before accepting it and Elrohir began to move it slowly in and out. Another digit followed the first, stretching him more, while at the same time his mate shifted upward, and Elrohir’s tongue moved languidly over his sac. 

He hissed his displeasure when the fingers were removed and Elrohir raised his head, but murmured his approval when his mate reached beneath his pillow and withdrew a vial of oil. He licked his lips when Elrohir uncorked it, poured a generous handful, and began to coat himself with it.

Legolas groaned in unison with Elrohir as he spread the oil upon his shaft. He was so dark and beautiful, his mate, so wild as he gave himself over to pleasure, that Legolas would have been happy then to watch Elrohir masturbate before him and spill his seed over him. 

“Melin chen,” he whispered.

Elrohir’s eyes met his. He had moved back between Legolas’ thighs and had drawn them over his own. He held himself poised at the entrance to his mate’s body. “I love you too,” he murmured.

And with one long thrust of his hips he drove home.

Elrohir began to move with easy, measured strokes until Legolas’ body accepted him without hesitation. He knew his husband and lover well, could tell by the tremors rushing through his body, by the dance of expressions on his face, how much pleasure he found in this. And he wanted to give as much physical joy to his mate as he possibly could, wanted to show how deeply he loved him, how much he treasured him. He tried not to think about the tight heat encasing him, clasping at him as he withdrew until only the head of his cock remained inside and then pushing in again, long and deep.

Beneath him Legolas moaned, struggled to get closer, and Elrohir slid his hands from his thighs to his buttocks, pulling Legolas snug against his body. Legolas planted his feet on the bed and began to thrust in counterpoint to Elrohir’s drives forward. 

Legolas gasped as he was impaled again and again, slow, always slow, thrusts deep inside, then just as languidly. Elrohir had changed the angle of his thrust and found that bundle of flesh inside him that had made his toes curl into the sheets.

“Harder,” Legolas begged.

Elrohir snapped his hips more powerfully now, more quickly, and he grasped Legolas’ shaft in his hand to stroke in time with his thrusts into his body. Legolas shook, cried Elrohir’s name, his release spurting out, coating his mate’s fingers.

Now Elrohir began to lose control. There was no measure in his thrusting, only a wild need for release. His grip on Legolas’ bottom tightened to the point he must surely be bruising him, but Legolas urged him on.

“Come, melethen, let me feel you . . .”

Elrohir gritted his teeth, his neck arching back. Every nerve in his body quivered, every muscle tensing. He came with a deep groan tearing from his throat, pleasure roaring through him, while Legolas held onto him, anchoring him to the world. 

He collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands, and leaned over Legolas. His mouth found the archer’s again and he tenderly kissed him.

At last he could hold himself upright no more and he slipped from Legolas’ body and rolled to his back, pulling his mate with him. He held him close, one arm possessively holding him while Legolas snuggled into his side. Elrohir felt at peace again . . . almost.

“Forgive me,” he begged, his lips now pressed into Legolas’ hair.

Legolas shifted, raised himself up on an elbow and eyed his mate in confusion. “For what?” 

“I should not have said the things I did.”

Legolas shook his head. “I know you did not mean them, Elrohir-nin, any more than I meant it when I accused you of trying to control my actions.” Legolas caressed his husband’s face. “If anyone must beg forgiveness, it is I. I could have stayed in Gondor with you or even better taken you back to Ithilien with me. I should have listened to you.”

Elrohir drew him back down against him, and Legolas shifted until he lay comfortably resting once again with his head upon his shoulder. “I believe my brother is right,” Elrohir observed ruefully. “We are well-matched in our stubbornness, at least.”

The archer chuckled. “Yes, we are. But I would not have you any other way.” After a moment’s silence he added, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Elrohir smiled. “I would do it all over again, to have you by my side.”

And it was true, he thought. He would do it again, from their first meeting to their last fight, for times such as this were worth whatever heartache lay between. All that mattered was their love for each other. Nothing else.

Nestled against him, his mate slowly drifted into sleep, and Elrohir drew the coverlet over them both, following him there, into the realm of dreams, to rest at last.

The End


End file.
